Lying awake, bleeding inside, tears trace across my temple. When I was on my way up here, I was warned about this: "Your boss has ulcers. Watch out, or he'll give them to you, too. How did I get this way? What did I ever do to him? I failed to cultivate grace; instead, I believed in works. Big guys can be bullies, but the small ones are dictators. Throw your hat into the ring; throw your ring into a hat I spit up blood the other morning; then I knew my fate. The constant taste of blood can hardly whet one's appetite. I guess I lack the lust for blood successfulness requires. I can look all in the eye unlike backbiting lackeys. A little travelling music maestro; I'm on my way home. |